


Castiel and his Parking Space

by PilDoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12482100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilDoor/pseuds/PilDoor
Summary: Tumblr prompt: 'You drive a massive SUV and steal my parking spot all the time and I was just heading out to leave you a strongly worded note under your windshield wiper but oh no you're hot' AUExcept Dean drives a '67 Impala.





	Castiel and his Parking Space

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to write some tumblr prompts to get back into writing. I haven't really been able to finish anything lately and I've been hating everything I make so hopefully these exercises will get me back into things. hehe.

At the university it is not actually possible for the students to formally reserve parking spots. That does not mean, however, that the students do not reserve parking spots. 

Everybody knows that Charlie’s Beetle is right next to Starbucks because she always has a shift after class. Just like the spot closest to the entrance is Meg’s, so her hair is not subject to too much water in case of rain. And many of the athletes park far away from the entrance, they have reserved the whole row of spots next to each other, because they are co-dependent and view the walk to the building as a work-out.

 

Likewise, the spot behind the founding father statue has been Castiel’s for the past two years. He does not have a reason, not in the same way the others do. He parked his sweet sixteen Lincoln Continental there on his very first day of college, and it had been the best first day of school in his something umpteenth first schooldays. So he had parked there the day after, and the day after as well, and the only day he did not park there was the only time he has ever failed a test. So yes, that’s his spot, for no other reason than a superstition you will not get him to admit to out loud.

 

With the turn of the season and September bringing with it new students, Castiel has found himself in somewhat of a dilemma. _Someone_ does not know that that spot is his, and Castiel has now, on the third week in a row, arrived to school only to find some big, black expensive-looking monstrosity in _his_ spot. 

Castiel has purposefully not signed up for any morning classes this semester so it should not surprise him that this car is there before him _every single day_ , but seriously?

Now, it is not like Castiel is some big shot on campus but he was published last year (only on a blog, but it was a prestigious blog and it had been a big deal among the other Lit majors), so people kind of know who he is, they kind of know what car he drives, and even if they do not, they certainly know that that parking spot belongs to a 1978 Lincoln Continental!

But not this guy. This guy who arrives early and leaves late all days but Tuesday, who has engineering books and blankets and Goldfish (and once a pair of pink satin panties) in his backseat, and who could be a girl but Castiel has just sort of pictured him as a guy.

Probably some big, manly, mean guy who smokes cigarettes and has tattoos and is taking a women’s rights class to impress girls. Someone who, if Castiel actually protested about the parking spot like he does in his mind every Thursday afternoon where he made the mistake of signing up for Text Revision, which he cannot for the life of him pay attention to, would beat him up. If not ignore him.

 

But Castiel really has half a mind to. To just find the guy, wait for him to get to his car and just let him know! That that spot is Castiel’s, and Castiel needs it to pass his midterms. That guy has some nerve if he really thinks he can just barge into Castiel’s routine like this and demand such a fundamental thing to Castiel's well being, and now Castiel has to park two blocks away, by the convenience store on Main street, but then he has to walk those two blocks so he has to leave earlier, which means he has to get up earlier, which means he has to go to bed earlier, and do you see the problem here?

 

“Maybe just leave a note for him?” Meg suggests. 

Castiel lets go of his hair he had been gripping tight, and frankly, painfully between his fingers in frustration. He looks thoughtfully up at his friend, “A note?”

“That’s a great idea!” Charlie agrees, “You can just leave it on his windshield! No beatings, no ignorance, no conflict at all,” she claps her hands together.

Castiel tilts his head in thought. A note? “What would I write? ‘Excuse me, stranger, I need this spot to pass my exams and to even sleep at night, and maybe I have a little untreated OCD I should probably see a doctor for?’”

Meg rolls her eyes, “No, dumbass. You start out by charming him, making him like you. ‘Hello, big, sexy Impala…”

“Impaler? Eurgh, isn’t that a little forward? I just want my parking spot back,” Castiel wrinkles his nose.

Charlie bursts out laughing, “Dude! Impala, that’s the car. It’s a classic.”

Castiel blinks at her, “Oh.”

Meg rolls her eyes then, “Anyway. ‘I wish to inform you of a misunderstanding in regards to a certain parking spot’.” She looks up in thought.

Charlie rips out a piece of notebook paper and hands it to Castiel, who starts writing what Meg dictates with a mechanical pencil.

“Do I sign it?” Castiel asks after they have constructed a page of what start as pleasantries and gradients into offensive and ends in downright insults.

The girls shrug and nod, “Sure.”

 

It is after classes on a Friday and the offending ‘Impala’ is still there. The trio stands about a hundred yards away and stares at the car that is one of few in the parking lot this late in the afternoon before the weekend.

“So I just leave it under the windshield wiper?” Castiel asks, hesitant now in the face of the monster.

“Well, yeah,” Charlie says.

Meg pushes Castiel’s shoulder, “Go! We’ll keep lookout.”

Castiel glares at her over his shoulder as he makes his way to the car.

 

Castiel pulls the note out of his pocket and reads it over once more.

It is a little offending and Castiel is not sure of the odds of the note solving his problem. He looks back at the girls who are both grinning and giving him thumbs up. He nods gravely at them. This is all he can do right now and maybe the person is not a tattooed mean meninist and will see the desperation behind the note and find a new parking spot out of the goodness of his heart.

Yes, Castiel nods to himself. He will leave the note. At least then the Impala guy will know how he feels, even if he does not know who Castiel is. He lifts up one windshield wiper, ready to slip the note under it, when-

“Hey!” some guy is walking towards him, waving at him with one hand, “What the hell are you doing?”

Castiel looks up like a deer caught in headlights. Is this a parking inspector? Castiel scans the man quickly, and after taking in his gelled up sandy-blonde hair, his scuffed leather jacket with a well-worn flannel peeking out under it and the holes on the knees of his jeans, Castiel decides that he is probably not. And if he is not, he must be-

“That’s my car,” the guy says, pointing at it and frowning at Castiel. And he is hot too. Castiel groans on the inside.

Castiel crumbles up his note in his hand, “Uhhh.”

The guy is standing by the car’s rear and Castiel is thankful for the distance. He curses Meg and Charlie. Some lookouts they are.

“You’re not giving me a ticket, are you?” the guys asks, still angry.

Castiel stares at him. Does he look like a frat bro? What would he have tickets for?

“-Cause I’m within the lines, you know, and I already registered my car with the school.”

It dawns on Castiel that this guy made the same mistake Castiel did and thinks Castiel is a parking inspector. And Castiel cannot really come up with a better excuse. Staring into the face of this beautiful man he knows he needs to get out fast, and this seems like as good an opportunity as any. 

“Uh, yes, well,” he pulls his coat around him and stands up straighter, “This parking spot is reserved.”

The guy raises an eyebrow, “Reserved? And where exactly does it say that?” he walks closer to Castiel, trying to see if there is a sign somewhere. Castiel notices that he is bowlegged and his jeans hug his hips just right under the length of the flannel, and why is life so unfair?

“Well, nowhere,” Castiel stuffs his hands into his pockets, “I am saying it now.”

“So?” the guy challenges. He is just a few feet away from Castiel now. He has long eyelashes.

Castiel pulls out the crumpled up note and waves it briefly at the man, “I have it in writing right here.”

The guy eyes him for a second, “Can I see that?”

Castiel gulps, “Uhm, no. Sorry.”

And then before Castiel has any chance to react the guy has taken the last few steps towards him and has pulled the paper from his hand. He frowns as he reads it. Castiel can smell the guy’s aftershave and he wish he could just pass out into a coma for the next three years or until the guy has forgotten this encounter.

Castiel sweats and looks behind him for his friends. He cannot see them and he realizes with dread that they are watching the interaction from the coffee shop across the street.

“Dude,” the guy says after he is done reading _the whole thing_. "You're Castiel?" he asks, pointing to the bottom of the paper where Castiel made the mistake of signing his name.

Castiel grimaces, “Heh.”

The guy waves at his car, “So I stole your parking spot, that it?”

Castiel rubs a hand down his face, “Kind of?”

The guy grins then for some reason beyond Castiel’s grasp, “Dude, you should have just told me!”

“I was, uh,” Castiel squints, “Scared you were mean?” he looks at his feet.

The guy cracks up at that, “Ha, I like that. Listen, I'm not cruel, but this is a good spot. I'd be willing to give it up for a price," he says in a way that makes it sound like a suggestions and he _smirks_ like Castiel was not already on the verge of passing out. 

“Uhm," Castiel fiddles with his hands. He is not good at this. No, scratch that; he is notoriously bad at this. But he thinks he could be reading this right. And if he is not, he will creep the guy out and Castiel can only hope he will have creeped him out enough to get his spot back. But he hopes he has not misread this. "Dinner?” Castiel asks, tilting his head in that way that makes Meg say 'Sploosh.'

The guy's grin widens and he has really full lips. Castiel does not understand what his life has turned into. Now he is reading social signals and _flirting_. “I like the way you think, Cas.”

Castiel squints at the guy, “I didn't catch your name.”

The guy ducks his head at his misstep, "Right, sorry. I'm Dean," he sticks his hand out (which is as freckled as his face) and Castiel shakes it.

There is a weird moment where they just sort of stare at each other but the guy, _Dean_ , is still smiling, at least. He is the one to interrupt the moment as well, "So, dinner? When were you thinking?”

“Uhm," Castiel stumbles. It is close to midterms so he does not plan anything but homework further than 12 hours ahead, "I'm free right now?"

The guy looks surprised but not put off, "Okay, a bit sudden, but I think I can make it work."

Castiel nods. There is another one of those weird silent moments where they stare at each other. 

Dean is the one to spring to action again, and he walks around to the passenger side of his car, "Shall we take my car?" he opens the door and Castiel gets in.

The dinner is nice and Dean is nice, and the car Castiel spent all those weeks hating is actually nice as well. Especially the backseat. When Dean drops Castiel off by his car by the convenience store, he takes off with Castiel's underwear keeping Dean's own pink satin undies with company in his backseat.

 

It is only till next semester that the black car starts occupying the parking spot again. This time it is forgivable, as Castiel and Dean have coordinated their classes, and leave their apartment together most days.


End file.
